A Hero You May Have Missed
by rev lady mal
Summary: At the end of World War II, America is restless as they wait for the Red Army to finish off the Germans in Berlin. On a warm night in late April, the action finds him in the moonlight. Characters, America, Belarus, England. This story contains some profanity, and a scene where a person is dead. M rating will come in later chapters. PG for now.
1. Chapter 1

It was too warm for April. The close air inside the tent made America restless. He rolled over and faced the open flap, peering at the moonlight that had worked its way inside. Deciding a walk was better than tossing and turning on his cot, he grabbed his clothes and quietly slipped out of the tent, pulling on his pants one leg at a time with his boots slung over his shoulder. Once his boots were on, he headed out away from the camp, past the MP's keeping watch and headed toward the river.

The camp was in a clearing not far from the Elbe River. Even with the almost full moon spilling light and casting shadows everywhere, it was still dark beneath the trees. America found a path and followed it until he came out on the road that ran alongside the riverbank.

There were still hours before daylight, but America wasn't sleepy. He hated how they had to stay here and wait for the order to cross the river. There had been minor skirmishes and cleaning up the few pockets of resistance that still lingered, but that had taken very little time at all. Now they were hunkered down and told to wait until the Russians were finished with Berlin.

"Can't sleep?" America turned and found England walking out of the tree line. He had a freshly rolled cigarette in his fingers.

America looked back over the river. "Nah, not at all. Too warm, this moon's too damn bright. I'm sick of waitin."

England dipped his head, hand cupped around the lit match as he drew on the cigarette. "Remember Yalta, we promised Russia we would stop here until he captured Berlin."

"I'd rather forget."

"I know you would, you almost did once." England exhaled and looked at the moon. "Almost full."

"Uh huh," America's attention was on the east side of the river. "Do you see something over there, moving above the tree line?"

"What?" England looked in the same direction as America, something banked and reflected the moonlight before disappearing into the dark. "Looks like a small plane. What the hell are they doing?"

"Night recon?" America asked, smirking when England pulled a face. It was then they saw flashes of light in the distance, as if to answer America's question.

"A bombing run ... but who's there for them to bomb?"

"I don't get it, the Germans on the other side have been sitting there for days. They haven't tried to move." America focused on planes when he could see them. Someone was getting action. He was jealous.

England field stripped the butt of his cigarette. "Very strange indeed. Still, that's close enough we can see the bombs detonating, so it's possible some movement is happening out there."

America felt wide awake. Something was finally happening! Was Germany trying to flee the Red Army by coming west? "What if the German army starts coming over-" He was cut off by the sight of anti aircraft fire shooting into the air, one of the tiny planes made a sharp turn to fly away from the fire before dipping below the trees.

"Damn, looks like they got one." England said quietly.

"Maybe not, I didn't see a crash." America willed his eyes to look into the pale moonlight, cursing the fact the source was sinking too low in the western sky.

"Neither did I, maybe the pilot was able to land ... Do you hear that?" England asked, glancing at America, "Sounds like a bloody sewing machine."

America gave him a look of disgust, "How the hell would I know what one of those sounds like?" His eyes were drawn back to the river when he saw movement. "What is that?" As it drew closer his eyes grew wider.

England's mouth slightly dropped open when it was close enough to get a good look at it. "That's a-"

"-Biplane." America finished, watching the plane as it headed right for them. The plane flew so low it almost skimmed the water with it's fixed landing gear. It lifted up just enough to fly over the road, heading straight for England and America.

The plane flew over their heads, making them both hit the dirt. America lifted his face just in time to see the small plane touch down and roll to a stop. The single engine cut, and a figure scrambled from the cockpit. Then a female voice echoed into the night, "Darya ... _Darya!"_

America instantly sprang to his feet and ran toward the plane. England right behind him. He was still on his cot in that tent where the air was too close, and he was dreaming this. Girls flying antique planes in the middle of the night?

Except for badly aimed shots from their rifles and side arms, the Germans hadn't been able to do much against the harassment raids of the 588th in weeks. Most of them had been stopped in Halbe, but a few remnants of the German 9th had broken free and were fleeing in the direction of the 12th, cut off from Berlin and waiting for the end. The mission of the decorated bombing squad had been to provide air support for their Comrades on the ground fighting to keep the German armies from reuniting. So after a night of successive bombing missions, it was a shock to now get caught in strafing fire.

Bullet holes punctured the fuselage of the plane. Belarus had been listening to her navigator give instructions when the plane was hit, and she went silent. She used evasive maneuvers to get away as fast as she could and dipped down below the tree line when she found the river. Forest lined the waterway on both sides as far as she could see in the moonlight, there was no place to land unless she crashed into the trees or dumped the plane into the river. With the communication device in her hand, she had shouted at Darya, but the other girl never answered. It was with relief when they came around the bend and she saw the road running along the river on the west bank. Belarus landed in the road and brought the plane to a quick stop.

Once the plane was on the ground, Belarus climbed out and stood on the canvas covered plywood wing, looking at the dead woman stare blankly into the night. She hopped down and leaned against the plane just in time to hear footsteps running toward her. Bending down, she extracted the knife from her boot and faced the two men approaching, crouched and ready to attack.

America skidded to a stop and stared at the plane in front of him. It was a relic! Why was this thing even here? His eyes looked from the nose with the propeller, over the double wings, past the open cockpits to the tail, where there was a large red star with a white outline painted on it. Then his eyes went back to the tiny figure holding a knife and giving him a menacing look. Even in the moonlight and wearing bulky flight gear, there was no mistaking the form of a female.

"Bloody hell, it is a girl," England exclaimed, "Put the knife down miss, no one's going to hurt you."

America came out of his shock long enough to blurt out the first thing he could think of, "What the hell is a girl doing here?"

Belarus straightened and looked between them, "En-English?"

"What? No! I'm an American damn it!" America shouted.

"Put a lid on it, git!" England shoved him over and moved in closer. "Yes, English. You're co-pilot, is she?"

Belarus gave England a harsh look. "Dead."

The sound of a plane landing had woken up the camp. A dozen more men came out of the woods and stopped when they saw the plane and the girl standing between England and America.

"Look at that plane! Who still flies those things?" 

"Whoa, where did she come from?"

All of the men stared at Belarus. She looked at them with a defensive look, waiting for the jokes to start. She had endured plenty of them from the male pilots and crews, until the women had proven they were good at what they did. Most treated them with respect now.

The group of men only stared in silence once they realized the girl was the pilot of the biplane.

Belarus didn't pay them any attention, she looked at England, "My comrade?"

America finally found his voice, "We'll take care of her."

England held up his hand, "This way, we don't need to stand her in the night." and he led Belarus back to camp. The men parted to let her pass watching her disappear into the forest before went back to staring at the old biplane in the road.

America began barking orders to take care of the body of the dead girl. The men found something to wrap her in and carried her back to camp. America listened to the men quietly talk amongst themselves, and they were all saying what he was thinking. What were girls doing flying around in an old wooden plane dropping bombs? Two small bombs attached to the lower wings were still there.

Once the girl had been taken care of, America stepped onto the wing to get a look inside. Only the most basic of instruments were inside the cockpit, the stick the pilot used to fly the plane stuck up between the pedals. He saw a rubber hose strung between the cockpits with metal cones attached to the ends. The communications device. Shaking his head, he looked at the seats before realizing something was missing. Parachutes.

America ignored everyone staring at him as he stomped into the camp. It didn't take long to figure out where England had taken Belarus - there was a crowd around the entrance to the mess hall.

"Clear out!" He shouted at the men gathered around. They scrambled to get away from him as he pushed his way inside. He searched through the line of people waiting for breakfast and stopped when he didn't hear anything. Why was it so quiet?

Everyone was busy staring at the girl wearing flight gear as if she were a pilot. England stood behind her as they went through the line getting breakfast. All eyes were on Belarus as she carried her tray to the farthest corner and sat. Why were they all staring at her? She self-consciously pulled off her leather flight helmet and goggles, revealing close-cropped blonde hair, and set them on the table before bowing her head to pray before she ate.

America grabbed a tray of food and sat down across from Belarus and England. He watched her cross herself before picking up the cup of tea and sipping it. The other men went back to eating breakfast, but the chatter in the room was more subdued than usual.

While Belarus picked up a piece of toast and stared at it, America looked at England, who appeared very casual as he sipped his tea. He glanced over his cup at America, "What? That's toasted bread, Belarus," he added, noting her confusion at the strange looking white triangle.

She sniffed it and took a bite, finding it rather plain. Sipping more tea to wash it down, she looked at the eggs and ham waiting for her.

"What? Exactly, what. That's what everyone here is thinking right now."

"Let her have some breakfast before we do anything else. We will need to get in touch with the Russians."

The thought of her going back to her unit made America's jaw set. "There are no parachutes in that rattle trap."

"Really, that's odd," England said, glancing at Belarus, "Do you have parachutes with you?"

Belarus stared at him, chewing on another bite of the tasteless white bread. "Parachutes? No, no parachutes. Too heavy."

"Too heavy for what?" America asked, his cup of coffee held up near his lips. He wanted to hear this.

"The plane will be too heavy. We need to take bombs." She sniffed at a forkful of eggs before tasting them. There was a lot of food here, more than she was used to eating.

America and England stared at each other. "How long have you been doing this, Belarus?" America asked.

The girl looked at him, wondering what all of the questions were about. "Since forty two."

Three years, America thought, looking inside his cup. He put the cup down and looked at his food, for once not feeling hungry. Didn't Belarus used to have long hair? Now it was cut short to keep it under the helmet for flight.

"I don't think I would be able to get into a wooden plane without a parachute," England pushed food around with his fork.

"No one should have to." America replied, glancing over at Belarus, who was quiet. Behind him he knew the other men were looking in their direction and talking. Girls flying bombing missions against the Germans? It was then he heard someone in the room say a word that made Belarus slowly lift her head to glance up. "Nachthexen."

America turned around and looked at the man who said the word, "What did you say?"

The man looked at America warily, "I was just sayin, that's what Jerry calls those Ruskie girls flyin in planes bombin 'em at night. I heard the Krauts are terrified of them."

Belarus's head lowered back down. She stared at the half-eaten food on her plate. The night of bombing, being shot at and losing her navigator, only to find herself in a western allies camp had caught up with her.

_THUD!_ The sudden noise made America jump and spin around. England stared at Belarus, "Bloody hell!" He reached for her head and pulled it up so her face was no longer planted in the middle of her eggs, "She passed out, poor girl."

America jumped from his seat and scooped her into his arms. He carried her out of the mess hall and went straight for his tent, with England following behind.

America placed her on his cot. He found a clean handkerchief and carefully wiped the eggs off of her face.

"I'm going to see if we can get in contact with her unit." England said as he stepped back out of the tent.

America didn't bother to look up, "You do that." He gazed at Belarus's face, the anger he felt slowly growing.

Author's note: A plot bunny I decided to run with and see where it goes. The first official encounter the western allies made with Russians was on April 25, 1945. After that more western troops began encountering Russians as the gap was closed between the two fronts. The Americans arrived at the Elbe River in mid April, but were told to stay put until the Red Army could take control of Berlin.

The story will be continued in the next part.


	2. Chapter 2

Belarus sat up and blinked at the light coming in through the tent flap. She shrugged out of her flight jacket and tossed it to the foot of the cot. Stretching with her arms in the air, she looked around at the very tidy space. Boots were polished, everything was in its place. Except for the wrinkles she left in the blankets, the bed had been perfectly made.

Before she could wonder who's tent she was in, she heard voices outside coming closer. One of the voices she recognized right away - England. Suddenly, a hand reached for the tent flap and held it against the pole, as if to block someone.

"___Mon Dieu_, Angleterre get out of my way and let me see 'er!" A new voice blurted out. He sounded more teasing than irritated.

"No! The last thing she needs is you sniffing around her while she sleeps!"

There was laughter, "Not everyone complains when I do that, like you."

"Bloody hell, I never, Hey -" There was scuffling in front of the tent. Belarus's eyes narrowed at the tent flap when it was flung open.

France strode inside, removing his hat. "Ah, see? She is awake!"

"Because you woke her up, git." England grumbled as he stumbled in after him.

"My apologies, Belarus if I am the reason you are awake," France said has he clicked his heels together and bowed in perfect imitation of her older brother.

"I was already awake," She answered.

"Wonderful, I 'eard about what happened and I wanted to see for myself ... Where is your 'air?!" France stared at her in horror.

England, groaned. "Obviously she cut it off. She's a pilot."

"I saw that ... crop duster she is piloting too!" France retorted angrily, "What is wrong with your brother, 'e has more modern planes than that."

"The men fly those. We were told the women could fly the planes we were assigned or stay on the ground."

"Criminal, criminal." France shook his head, "And your 'air. You 'ad such beautiful long locks when I last saw you."

"It will grow back." Belarus replied.

"Of course it will. Belarus is not the only lady who has cut her hair for the war effort." England said flatly.

"What are you guys doing in here?" America said as he entered the tent, "Oh, you're awake, Belarus," he added, a boyish smile on his face. "They didn't wake you, did they?

Belarus shook her head. "I was already awake."

France gave her a big smile, "Why are you so close to Berlin with that rattletrap?"

"Fighting the war, just like you." Belarus gave him a perplexed look. Wasn't it obvious why she was there?

"I think what France means is, what is your mission?" England asked.

The girl hesitated, not sure how much she should share with them.

"It's alright to tell us," America said as he smiled.

She wasn't so sure about that, but after setting her gaze on each of them, she realized they were all waiting for her to explain why she was there. "The German Ninth Army is trying to move west and unite with the 12th. My mission is to provide air support for my brother, who will stop them."

"They're moving west? Do they want to go to Berlin?" America asked, frowning.

"No, they can't go to Berlin, we surrounded the city and they are cut off."

England leaned forward, giving Belarus a sharp look, "Then that means Germany intends to move west toward the western allies."

"And we will make sure he doesn't," she said matter of fact.

The others exchanged glances with each other. Suddenly, a soft, disembodied voice broke the brief silence, "Germany wants to surrender to us, not Russia."

"GAH!" England shouted, jumping into the air.

"Canada!" America tried not to look spooked, "When the hell did you get here?"

"Eh? I've been here the whole damn time, you idiot!" Canada huffed.

France did his best not to look too started, " 'e is right, once these two armies can get together, they will push across the river."

"No!" Belarus exclaimed, rising from her seat on the cot, "My brother says they must not be allowed to do that!"

"Hey, relax," America said, putting his hand on her shoulder to reassure her, "We're all on the same side here, right?"

England looked uncomfortable, France glanced in the direction of where he heard Canada's voice.

Belarus's eyes gave all of them a withering look before focusing on America again, "I need to get back to my big brother as soon as possible."

"Uh, yeah, see, we don't have plane fuel here." America replied.

"But we are working on getting some," England added.

"And in the meantime, you can be our esteemed guest." France gave her a friendly smile.

Belarus looked down at her feet when she felt a presence and found a polar bear sniffing at her boots. Spending more time than necessary here was not a good thing for her. England asked too many questions, France complained about her hair and America was always fussing over her. She wasn't used to being fussed over.

America clapped his hands together and grinned, "So, are ya hungry? You didn't eat much of a breakfast." He moved over to the trunk at the end of the cot and opened the lid, "I have some C rations in here, you're welcome to them."

"Of course you would stash food in your kit," England grumbled

"Calling that food is an insult to food," France looked at the small box America handed to Belarus.

"There is nothing wrong with C rations," America said, glancing at Belarus when she pulled the pack of cigarettes out of the box. "Germany loves eating them. Better than his iron rations!"

The voice heard earlier spoke up again, "Speaking of Germany, come on America, I know you've got some of that beef stew stashed in here!" He reached under the cot and pulled out a crate. 

"When did you get back?" America exclaimed, looking stunned when Canada appeared.

Canada gave him a flat look, "I never left!" He tore open the crate and pulled out a can of stew and handed it to Belarus with a smile, "Here, eat this. It tastes much better."

She took the can from him, "Thank you."

France leapt forward and reached into the crate, "You are 'olding out on us!"

"How much bloody food do you have in here? I want a tin of that!" England snarled, he also grabbed some stew from the crate.

"If you guys want food go to the mess hall!" America bellowed as he snatched the crate away, but not soon enough to keep Canada from grabbing a can. He gave France a look of pure evil as the man shoved a can into each pocket of his uniform coat.

"Why should we? You practically have a mess hall in here," England quipped as he handed the can opener over to Belarus after opening his stew.

Belarus opened the can and took the fork offered her. The first bite made her eyes widen, because the stew inside really was good. She shoveled the rest of the can into her face as fast as the others. Someone passed her a canteen which she drank from heartily because the salt in the stew made her very thirsty. "You are right, Canada, that stew is delicious."

"America always has the good stuff," Canada grinned at her as he held his can away from the polar bear, "Knock it off, Kimajojo!"

"This must be officer's mess, though. The German soldiers never eat this good." England tipped the can up to get the last bit out.

"Not even German officers are eating very well." America replied as he watched Belarus finish her can.

Belarus looked at all of them, thinking about what the Soviet army survived on. She hadn't seen so much meat in weeks, and here they ate it every day. She remembered the last meal she ate before flying - cabbage soup and a piece of rye bread. When they were done flying for the night they had kasha waiting for them for breakfast. "In Poland we found some of the German iron rations. I thought they would have better food."

"They modernized everything except how they feed their troops." England burped and patted his stomach.

France gave England a sidelong look, "If Germany is not modern with food, you are still Medieval, Angleterre."

Canada snorted, then coughed at the stew going the wrong way down his throat. England scowled at both of them and muttered under his breath as he stomped out of the tent. France reached over and pounded Canada on the back until he gasped for him to quit.

Natalia turned to America who gave her a friendly grin, deciding he would be the most helpful. "Is there somewhere I can wash?"

"Huh? Oh yeah sure, uhm, there might be guys in there right now. Lemme go check." Natalia followed him out of the tent, blinking at the brightness of the day. It was warm outside, more like summer than spring. Shielding her eyes, she looked around the camp, already noticing some stares, but in the distance England talked to a man in a jeep.

Just then America came bounding back. "The guys said they would give you 15 minutes. Is that enough?"

Natalia nodded, then followed America around until he found some soap, a washcloth, a clean t shirt and a towel for her. Once she was on her way to the showers, America returned to his tent to find England had returned and was chatting with France.

"There is some fuel for her plane coming. She could probably head back to her side of the river tonight." England said, immediately noticing the frown on his face, "What, she can't stay here."

France only shrugged, giving America an understanding look. He had noticed how he looked at the girl. "I am more concerned about this plan of 'er brother's, 'erding up the Germans like cattle."

America sat down on his cot, "What did you expect Russia to do, wait for Germany to say he's sorry and no hard feelings, you can all go home now?" He looked at his hands and saw they were balled into fists, "I don't like sending her back. Doesn't it bother you women are flying those death traps?"

"Plenty of women have died in this war. I admit using women in combat is ... uhm ... unconventional, but Russia has always been different." England said, "And I don't think you appreciate the situation of having her here and the problems it will cause." 

"Of course I do," America muttered, "But can't we just put her on a jeep and drive to a town? Find a boat and take her across? And what kind of problems is she going to cause?"

That earned him a 'don't be dense' look from England. "That plane can't be abandoned as is with two bombs attached to it."

"Bombs?" France gave England a sharp look.

"Aye, the plane is still loaded with two small bombs. Bombardier was killed before they could be delivered."

"Merde."

The tent flap opened and Belarus walked in. Her hair was damp and the spare undershirt America had given her to wear clung to her in spots where her skin was still damp. America didn't realize he was staring until England reached over and slapped the back of his head. "Hey!" He exclaimed, slapping England's hand away.

"The fuel for your plane will be here presently. I think we will have rain in the next day or perhaps the day after. Did you know when you planned to leave?" England asked Belarus, glaring at America while France smirked at them.

"I could leave tonight," she answered, "But I don't know where the rest of my squad is."

"There, you see? No point sending her off when she doesn't even know where to go." America retorted, giving England a smug look.

"Actually, I'm expecting a message from her brother any minute."

America's jaw set firmly, France gave her a smile, England studied her for a moment before leaving the tent. France got up and followed him, almost tripping over Kumajiro on his way out.

America suddenly felt shy once he was alone with Belarus." So, did you have a nice shower?"

"Yes, thank you. I feel better now." The olive drab army undershirt she wore was the smallest America could find, but it was still too big for her.

Americans hate silence, and small talk was how they filled that silence. Belarus had never experienced talking just to talk, so she found this habit odd. She sat on the edge of his cot again, also becoming aware she was alone with a man in a tent during the middle of the day.

"The war will be over soon, what do you think you will do afterward?" America asked, thinking if it were possible, he would like to see her again. He imagined her in a blouse and skirt dressed like other girls. Hair perm with soft curls. She would look really fine.

"I will eventually go back to the farm. First there will be much work to do, cleaning up and rebuilding. Many of my people are gone now."

"You'll be very busy." America could feel her sadness. He wondered how many people had died when Germany had occupied her country.

"Very busy." She nodded, reaching for a leather satchel she had arrived with.

"Okay," America thought for a moment, "Girls in your country go out on dates, right?"

Belarus gave him a curious look. "Of course we do."

"Of course you do! How else would you get to know a guy you might like."

"Usually I start by talking to them."

The girl pulled out a comb and began to pull it through her short hair. America watched her do this before realizing he was staring at her again. He couldn't help it, she was really pretty and watching her comb her hair ... now he understood why England said she couldn't stay.

He leapt to his feet and stomped to the door of the tent, "When you're done with that, come to the mess hall, okay?"

Before she could answer he was gone. She stared at the tent flap, confused as to why he suddenly left when he had mentioned dates and getting to know her better. She would like to get to know him better too. She thought him very kind.

Supper at the mess hall was much like breakfast. Plenty of stares when Belarus walked in, but this time the hall didn't grow silent. The portions of food put on the metal tray were more than Belarus could eat, so she had fun feeding bits to the polar bear, who's name she still couldn't quite remember because it seemed as though Canada called him something different every time.

England and France chatted with her, but America sat quietly, staring at his tray of food. He had lost his appetite. The idea of Belarus flying that plane back and running more bombing missions made him feel white hot anger again. While the others watched Belarus offer another piece of food to Kumajiro, a soldier came into the mess hall and handed England a message.

"I believe this is for you," England said after blinking at the Cyrillic writing and handing it over to Belarus, who opened it with one hand while the polar bear licked her fingers.

"It is from my brother!" She read over the letter quickly:

My dearest comrade sister,

I am thrilled to know you are safe and unhurt. We are very close to

achieving complete victory over Germany! Isn't that wonderful?

you must return to us as quickly as possible. England promised

he would help you do that. Now, this is where you can get

best borscht in Germany. Would you be a dear and get some

for me? Head northeast until you ...

Belarus finished the note and stuffed it into her pocket. She needed a map now and that was with her gear in America's tent. She took her tray over to where they were washed and headed out. The others all looked at each other, but America jumped up and scrambled out the door after her.

Natalia found her map and had it laid out on America's cot. By the time America walked in, he could see her finger pointing at a spot on the map as she read the letter. Big brother was very close.

"What are you doing," America asked when he stepped up to the cot, looking at the map. It was in Russian, but he could still make out some of the city names.

"I am locating where I am supposed to meet my brother," she replied while looking at the map, "He also asked me to use the bombs I still have, but it will be hard for me to do that without a navigator."

"You can't do it yourself?"

Belarus shook her head, "It's not easy to do that and pilot the plane. You see, I idle the engine so it doesn't make noise, and ... "

"I'm going with you," America blurted just as England and France walked into the tent.

Author's Note: Part two of Belarus's adventure with the western allies at the end of World War II. This is the part that would have never happened obviously, but it's part of the plot okay? Just stick with me. Part III will come soon.


End file.
